


Hit The Ground

by jcksnwhttsmrs



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: CAPS, Capitals, F/M, Hockey, NHL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 13:39:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14717124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcksnwhttsmrs/pseuds/jcksnwhttsmrs





	Hit The Ground

You found yourself here all the time. At the same bar. With the same people. All the same men buying you drinks and trying to take you home. All the same girls either jealous at the attention you got, or too busy trying to get attention of their own to care. It was stale. It was so calculated. You knew everything that was going to happen. Which is why you knew after the sharp dressed man at the end of the bar downed the last of his fourth glass of whiskey, he was going to throw down money and waltz over to you. 

Lean against the bar and ask if he could buy you a drink. And you would nod without speaking. Just like the first time. And every time after that. He would get the bartender who just finished feeding him Johnny Walker down the line, to bring two of what you were having. Of what you always had. Sex on the Beach. The only thing different now was he didn’t snort, caught off guard, unable to hold back his comment of “I could give that to you if we got out of here,” anymore because it was lame. Like you told him it was.

Then he would drink with you, taking in your appearance. Sometimes a dime look, sometimes tired and just craving alcohol. Either way he loved the site of you. Because he knew you saw past the facade of everything around you. He liked that, he really did but he was too engrossed in it himself to ever change for someone like you. Not that he’d ever given it an ounce of effort. He would buy you two, maybe three drinks before he was pushing you out of the bar and back home. Your home never his. And you’d fuck until he would leave and he would do it all over again in a week. Maybe two.

You would spend the early hours of Sunday morning nursing a light headache and thinking about how empty you felt again. How you longed for those handful of nights when you didn’t come home and fuck. The first, you were on your way when you got a phone call about your friend being in a car accident that night. You learned she was in a coma, and you lost it in the back of the cab. Tom let you cry yourself to sleep that night in his arms. The next was when you told him not to waste his time at the bar because you were on your period. He said he would come over anyway and hang out. You ended up giving him head because you had no self restraint and one charming look from him had you dropping to your knees.

The next time you were on your period, the same thing happened except when you fully expected to get on your knees he told you you didn’t have to. He wasn’t in the mood anyway. Most of the time it was sex. Purely that. But sometimes there was an occasional night where you just hung out. It was still quiet. There were still thousands of things you wanted to know about him but maybe you were friends. Always somewhere caught in between that and fuck buddies and sad people at the bar. 

You were addicted to it though. So much though that you were beginning to feel the heavy weighing feeling on your heart. The feeling like maybe you wanted him to stay until the morning sometimes and where you longed for the nights when you didn’t touch. You wanted him to see you in the sunlight. No makeup on. Pajamas not lingerie. You wanted to wear your hair up in front of him and talk. Really talk. 

But you knew you never could. You’d lose him completely that way because that wasn’t who he was. He was empty like you, but he wanted to keep it that way. He had no intentions of ever changing. Especially not for you. So you held on to what you could get, hoping that for the few hours he spends with you you can just block it out. Focus on how good it feels to share a moment with him. To share space in the most intimate setting. Like tonight, when you could feel it all coming undone. 

You slipped out of your black heels, placing your bag on the island counter as Tom took his jacket off behind you. You didn’t bother to turn the lights on, you both thrived in the dark anyway. Tom moved behind you and you didn’t have to speak as you pushed your hair out of the way and his fingers delicately pulled at the zipper in the bag of your dress. You’d worn it before so he knew it well. He even held it at the hips for you to step out of. He folded it nicely before placing it next to your bag on the counter when you moved to his tie. 

Like everything you hated, you too were becoming predictable and calculated. Neither of you so much as smiled when he dipped his head and let his hands fall around your neck, thumbs pressed to your cheeks when he kissed you like he fucking loved you but you knew he didn’t. It was slow. It was like the kind of kiss you give someone in an airport when you know the distance will strain you and tear you apart but you just can’t seem to let go. It’s what made all of this worse. 

Tom Wilson, known for his fiery personality and mean mug. The fighter. Really wasn’t a fighter at all because when he was here, in your dark hallway, drowning his sorrows with alcohol and pretending to be someone else, he was a lover. You moved to the buttons on his shirt when he slipped his lips to your neck. He knew every spot, every curve of your body and what to do with it so it didn’t take long to leave you gasping for air when he wanted you to. His hands slipped to your sides, just holding you in place while you stripped him of his clothes. 

You thought about it for a moment. You didn’t say anything on the car ride here. You glanced at the clock, noting the time, concluding you hadn’t spoken in over a solid hour but you still stood here, Tom’s hand drifting up to innocently rest on the skin, just brushing the edge of your bra. You never knew why but he liked to feel your heartbeat under his palm when he made out with you. You couldn’t complain. It made you feel warm. 

Once your hands moved to his belt, you began to feel the heat within yourself. You were able to turn off your mind now, and forget about wishing you could safeguard your heart from where Tom touched it so closely, but you couldn’t. You’d rather just turn it off. He had finished painting your skin raw with his lips and let his hands fall to hold yours in between you both. He pulled gently for you to follow him to the bedroom. Your bedroom that he could navigate better than anyone. His eyes pierced through you when he looked at you, but it wouldn’t be for very long because once he shut the door behind you, you let your head hit the pillow and he was busy looking at other parts of you. 

He was gone before the sun came up. Like clockwork. Two aspirins and a Gatorade on your side of the nightstand. The green one, how you liked it.


End file.
